Edna St. Vincent Millay (Эдна Сент-Винсент Миллей)

* * *

Well, I have lost you; and I lost you fairly;
In my own way, and with my full consent.
Say what you will, kings in a tumbrel rarely
Went to their deaths more proud than this one went.
Some nights of apprehension and hot weeping
I will confess; but that’s permitted me;
Day dried my eyes; I was not one for keeping
Rubbed in a cage a wing that would be free.
If I had loved you less or played you slyly
I might have held you for a summer more,
But at the cost of words I value highly,
And no such summer as the one before.
Should I outlive this anguish—and men do—
I shall have only good to say of you.

1. Not Over-Kind nor Over-Quick
2. The Cairn
3. When You, That at This Moment
4. I, Being Born a Woman
5. The Last White Sawdust

Распечатать (To print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1803

Последние стихотворения

To English version